


Polygones

by Lottery57



Series: Cycles Stories [2]
Category: Mother 2: Gyiyg no Gyakushuu | EarthBound
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, F/M, Graphic Description, POV Second Person, Psychological Torture, Sad Ending, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sequel, some characters are mentioned but do not appear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27280507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lottery57/pseuds/Lottery57
Summary: 'This is what it's like to be Ness Mason.''You're trapped in a cycle of your own self induced pain.''And you hate every second of it.'Sequel toCycles.
Relationships: Jeff Andonuts/Paula Jones, Paula Jones/Ness
Series: Cycles Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993327
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	Polygones

**Author's Note:**

> To properly understand this, you'll need to read Cycles for the context. Happy Halloween...

It hurts.

That's the _only_ thought you have in your mind. That's the only thought you _ever_ have. That's the only thought that you _allow_ yourself to have.

It _hurts._

This is what it's like to be Ness Mason.

You're trapped in a cycle of your own self inflicted pain.

And you _hate_ every _second_ of it.

You move your arm, and you feel your bones painfully grinding together, causing them to gradually erode away. You don't _have_ joints — they were _all_ disintegrated ages ago. Because of _you._ Because of _your_ actions.

You move your legs, and you feel the muscles in them contract with excruciating force. It's not a gradual movement — it's a sudden _jerk_ of tendons tearing apart, fusing different parts to make muscle and bone to move as one deformed limb.

You look at your hand and you see five — _no,_ not _five._ You're just _hallucinating._ You're trying to remember a time that never _existed._ A time when you didn't look like this. But such a time _never_ existed.

You focus a little more... _four._ Yes, _four._ You think there are four anyway — it's hard to tell, if what remains constitutes as _whole._ On the stump of your hand, four... _'fingers'_ stretch out.

But to call them _'fingers'_ would be a gross overstatement. Because fingers have skin. Fingers have receptors. Fingers have bones.

Yours do _not._

The skin on all of them is charred, as if they were burnt. But it was far worse than that. They were _far_ beyond simply _burnt._ The bones in them were exposed to the surroundings, phalanges being fractured in parts. They were twisted, and had started to mold themselves around the finger, trying to recreate the flesh that had been lost, and the skin that had been seared.

But it would never be the same.

Still, it's not all that bad. At least you can't feel anything in your fingers. You touch the side of your prison... no, the side of your _safety,_ of _their_ safety, and you feel nothing. You don't feel the cold surface, or the hard shell.

Because you _can't._ There are no receptors there anymore. Your fingers, which were once the most sensitive part of your body... they feel nothing.

You try and close your bones together, but you can't. The muscles simply don't work. Why? Because there are no _nerves._

It wasn't just the receptors you lost in your hand — you lost all the neurones as well. You will your hand to close, and it won't. There's no longer a pathway for an impulse to be sent. You destroyed both sensory and motor action of your hand.

It has no use.

But you keep it anyway. You could have cut off, performed your own _amputation,_ but you don't. Because it's a reminder. A reminder of what you've become. Something with no use.

With mild anger, you use your psychic powers to force your hand to close. It's the only way to do so. You continue this for a bit, opening and closing your hand, by using your mind.

It's not all that bad, is it?

After all, with no nerves and receptors, you can't feel pain in your hand. It would be a good thing, since if you could, it would simply feel as if someone was slicing each ligament with a rusted knife. Painful and slow.

But that's what you _want._ You don't want a quick fleeting moment of pain. You're _used_ to that. You'd simply be able to take it.

Nor do you want an continued annoyance, something that's _there,_ but not all that painful. You're used to that as well. You'd simply adjust to it.

You want, no, you _need_ a prolonged _agony._ You will never be able to ignore it. You'll never be able to get rid of it. It is there. It is a part of you.

And in that task, your hand has failed. It has failed to give you pain. It has lost sense, and so it has deprived you of the pain that you rightfully deserve.

It has no use.

It is regrettable, that your pain could not be appropriately maximized. But you'll have to rely on other means instead to compensate.

So, you use your mind to concentrate pain and suffering into all of your other limbs, all the limbs that still have feeling left in them.

You're careful though — because if you do too much, you may die. And you don't want to die.

Why? Because you _fear_ it? The idea makes you laugh.

Hardly. You _welcome_ death. You _long_ for death.

For you, death is not a punishment, or a fear — it's a _joy,_ it's a _reward!_

And _that's_ the issue. You don't _deserve_ happiness, or joy, or _any_ sort of peace. You don't _deserve_ to die, because that's what you _want._ Death is the _easy_ way out, the way to end it all, to stop the suffering. And you don't deserve that at _all._

So, you're careful to make sure that whatever you do, it won't be fatal.

But thankfully, that's not too hard. Your body is as frail as it as durable, from all that you've done. You survived being catapulted into the void of time, though your body never returned to normal. You won't die, not from anything _you_ can do anyway.

Still, it never hurts to be too careful. Your continued suffering is of the utmost importance, and you should take every precaution to ensure the maximum amount of it is felt — and death wouldn't be very conducive to succeeding in that task.

You've come up with a number of ways to do just that — all the time you've spent alone has given your twisted mind the ability to devise new ways to make yourself suffer.

Sometimes, that suffering is a fire, that burns deep within your tissues, causing cells to fuse together in the nightmarish heat, cytoplasm internally bleeding out of the dissolved membranes and covering that which remains.

Other times, it's the pain of a knife. Quick, precise, and to the point. The agony of the knife isn't what makes it so satisfying though. No. You know the pain of the knife... because you've _felt_ it. You've _used_ it.

Rather, it is the _anticipation._ You know it will _happen._ You just don't know _where..._ or _when._

You use your powers to lift the knife... and then sever your mind off. Your mind then acts without you knowing. It bypasses your brain, like a reflex arc. By the time you know what happened, it's already too late. Your mind takes over and stabs you.

But you don't know when. You only that it will happen.

And _that's_ the pain. The pain that you're never used to. The things you couldn't see.

But, there are times when you'll feel lazy. Yet, you know you must fulfil your criteria for pain. It's on those days, you resort to using your most powerful attack, the one that you've become so familiar with.

_PSI Rockin._

The set up is always the same. You take a deep breath — no, not a breath. You can't do that anymore. Air is pumped directly into them. You let the air swell into your lungs, before the systems force them out.

You force your hands to close, using telekinesis of course, and close your eyes. There's a song in the back of your mind. You focus on it, and... it's familiar...

Is it? You don't know anymore. But it doesn't matter. It works, and that's all that matters.

But the melody is soon... _disturbed._ It makes your mind quiver, and an irritation starts to build within you.

Good. That's the first step. But irritation isn't _strong_ enough.

You _know_ exactly what you need. You need something stronger. A force unbridled by _any_ restriction.

_Anger._

To lose yourself to the madness, the rage, the _anger_ at yourself, to _feel_ yourself giving away to it, and have no control over yourself, to go through that descent into pure _insanity_ once again and let it take control of you, driving your every action, for the most important task, the reason for your continued existence, to feel the suffering that you deserve — _that's_ what you need.

And it begins. Memories, flash through your mind, to fuel that irritation into something tangible.

You remember your mother. She provided for you. She cared for you. She _created_ you. And how did you repay her? You divided her. You destroyed her _happiness._

The divorce? That was _you._ If you had never left for that adventure, she'd still be with your father... wouldn't she?

Yes. She _would._

And then, you left her. How could you do that? You _abandoned_ her. When she needed you the most, you turned tail and ran. You made her suffer.

The anger towards yourself begins to bubble.

But it's not just her — no, remember, you failed _everyone._ Your family, your friends... and even your foes.

Like Pokey. You couldn't save him. You let him walk down that path, the path of evil... and you didn't do a _thing_ to stop him. After the Happy Happy debacle? He wanted to be your friend. But you _rejected_ it. Why? You could have _saved_ him. You could have turned him away from Giygas.

But you _didn't._

Monotoli. When Pokey escaped on that helicopter, you could said _something._ But you just kept your mouth shut. You didn't do anything. And look what your inaction has cost you.

Giygas. When Giygas was killed, you had _another_ chance. Even though you didn't deserve it, fate saw it fit to give you a _third_ chance. So how did you squander that chance? Why, the same way you squandered every other chance you were ever given in life. By not doing anything.

You didn't do anything there either. You could tried one last time, to save Pokey, when he was _free_ from Giygas's influence.

Or maybe, you could have taken the initiative, and _killed_ Pokey, before he could warped out this time, to save those in the future, and perhaps save Pokey himself.

But you didn't. And people are suffering because of it. Picky... he no longer has any family. All because of your inaction.

It's your _failure._

The anger starts to combine with regret, creating something more powerful, something more cohesive, which you drive towards yourself. You're almost ready. The failures are building up, and all you need is the greatest failure of all, to be able to refine that anger into its purest form.

And, of course, you'll never forget your greatest failure, will you?

_No._ You won't forget _that._ You won't forget _her._

_Paula._

She was your love. She was your _everything._ But _you_ threw that _all_ away.

Because, you couldn't be there for her. You were supposed to help her, to be there for her, to be her pillar of support and comfort, because she was _all_ of that and more to _you._

But it wasn't just that. There was so much more. Don't you remember all your dates?

There was the time when you and Paula went to that restaurant in Summers, but you left because the food was too posh for both of your tastes, and you ended up eating ordering a Mach Pizza to eat while looking out on the sea.

Or that time where you and her had a picnic at Milky Well, and the two of you ended up engaging a water fight with the pink water.

Or the time where the two of you were simply watching TV on your couch, and then you started to get a little cozy and... that was when you had your first kiss...

Do you remember... your first kiss? Of course you do. You won't ever forget it.

Her lips as sweet as honey, her touch like the softest silk, her blond hair flowing through the summer breeze, her eyes shining like the oceans, her face radiating warmth and joy, and her voice being able to sooth every worry...

Wasn't it great? It _was._ It was a feeling that you never wanted to stop feeling. It was sweet joy from the person you cherished the most.

Do you remember it all well? _Good._

_Because that's what you threw away._

And the price of that? _Jeff._

Jeff was able to be all that you couldn't, and so much more to her. But don't get mad at _Jeff._

Because he didn't do _anything._ You should be _thanking_ him, because he made your beloved _happy,_ when you could _not._ Where you failed, he _succeeded._

The anger belongs _on_ you. It belongs to _you._

And it is done. The anger you have directed at yourself, starts to takes control. The anger that drives into your veins, for throwing all your loved ones into the ether, it takes control of your mind. You feel insanity trying to take its grip on you — but you don't _resist_ it. You _welcome_ it.

And when it does, you briefly start to laugh. Because you know what's coming.

The melodies shatter and unite, the anger feeds into your every thought, the insanity that you saw in _him,_ starts to take hold of _you,_ all for _one_ purpose. You force your arms to the side, you open your eyes with a start, and open your mouth to _scream_ as loud as you can —

_"PSI Rockin Omega!"_

And then, it _happens._

The psychedelic explosion erupts in the centre of safety, confined by the walls of the Devil's Machine, starts tearing through body and mind, shattering every nerve in an instant before they are forcibly repaired, your mind slipping, wanting to absorbed by the darkness, but you refuse. You _won't_ let yourself go, because it's what you _deserve._

You ride it out, enjoying every second of the pain, all _28,345_ _seconds_ of it.

It's strange when you think about it. Before, PSI Rockin was a blast of instantaneous pain. A way of ending things quickly. But over time, your needs for the attack started to change, and it molded to your new desire — to have something that gave pain over longer periods.

And that's exactly what you needed.

At the end of it all, you sometimes find yourself almost dying... starting to slip away...

_"PSI Lifeup Omega!"_

But that's easily solved. And the cycle begins anew.

Only then do you let yourself fall into unconsciousness, for a greater suffering awaits you there.

Because while your Nightmare may be dead, the _nightmares_ are _not._

Every night, you are haunted by your dreams. Every night. _No_ exceptions.

They're always the same... either you'll be burning the world, and turning it to ashes... or killing everyone you love.

Mom? Dead. Picky? Dead. Jeff? _Extra_ dead.

Oh, and of course, as part as your suffering, you can't forget Paula. You can't forget how you wanted, so desperately _wanted_ her to _die_. Isn't that what you wanted? It is. You were seeking it. You were going to _cause_ it. So why are you so scared of it?

It's always the same.

It's a sunny day in Twoson. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming, on days like these, people like you... well, you _can't_ go there, can you? Hell _spat_ you out every time you tried to go there.

Because you already _found_ Hell. It's right here, inside this capsule.

But it's a beautiful day... and a person like you most certainly doesn't belong. But you're there. And you have only one goal.

To kill Paula Jones.

You walk up to her house, and with your right hand, you knock three times on the door. It opens.

There's a blond women there, with a bulge on her stomach, and when she sees you, an expression of shock on her face.

_"Hel... Ness...? NESS! I... I... it's really you... I... where have you be—"_

But you don't _care_ what she has to _say._ This is revenge, bitter and sweet. You shove her right through the house.

_"Ness... what, what are you..."_

And then, a different person interjects... your _Nightmare._ The only _'friend'_ that you had at that time. But you killed them as well.

_"Don't listen to her! She abandoned you. SHE ABANDONED YOU!"_

You know they're right. They've always been. So you draw Jeff's knife and approach her. It was irony — you'd be killing his wife with the present _he'd_ given _you._

_"The heart... that's where it all is... it all starts and ends there!"_

Your eyes instinctively focus your onto that spot, ready to break your chains.

_"NESS! What... what are you doing?! It's... it's me... Paula!"_

_"Exactly. And... that's why we're here. We're gonna make Jeff suffer... and then... he'll know exactly what pain is. What our pain is!"_

The pain that you felt. The loss of the person you loved the most. It's agony like none other, an agony even _you_ have failed to reproduce. And this is how you'd do it. Through this act.

It wasn't that bad, right? It's a necessary task. It's just like having breakfast.

_"Just like taking a breath... now, stop hers..."_

_"PLEASE, STOP! PK FIRE!"_

But it rolls of you like nothing. It only makes you feel a little warmer than before. You've survived much worse, much worse from _yourself._ You take one step towards her.

_"How... I... I... PK FREEZE!"_

But that doesn't do anything to you either. All that time you spent meditating at Rainy Circle has made you virtually immune to all forms of the cold. You take two steps towards her.

_"I... don't... PK THUNDER!"_

Nothing. Three steps.

_"Now."_

You look at the 25 year old women, cornered and scared for her life. No one to help her.

_"No Jeff to save her."_

You remember her fear to the best of your ability... because you want to show it to Jeff, show him the _fear_ that his wife felt before she _died._

You _know_ that look on her face. You know that _fear._ Because it's one she's shown _before._ A look of fear she's shown to only one _other_ entity.

**Giygas.**

_"Ness... what... what **are** you...?"_

And for the first time since you've met her, you speak.

_"What you... are... to me. Love."_

_"Ness... KILL HER."_

But then... you see a green field with sunny skies.. you remembers a kiss underneath the stars... you see a... a couple... which...

_"They were happy... right? We... were happy... we were... we were... but no... **I** was happy... but... we weren't. You... weren't. Happy. Happy. You were never... happy."_

_"Ness... I was **always** happy with you... but you weren't... I... I don't know where you've been or what happened to you... but I know you're hurt. But... we can help you."_

_"You... you can't fix what's already broken... and you can't help what's far beyond help..."_

_"No. We can help you. Come back to us. Your mom... your sister... they both miss you. We **all** miss you. Come back to us... to me..."_

And she gently hugs you, filling your heart with... confusion... and, a... a familiar _warmth..._

_"No... NO! IT'S A TRICK! IT'S JUST ANOTHER LIE! LIKE ALL THE ONES SHE TOLD YOU!"_

_"Ness... I miss you..."_

_"NESS! DON'T GIVE IN! YOU CAN'T FALL TO HER LIES THIS FAR! DO IT! KILL HER!"_

But... you don't want to... you don't _want_ to _kill_ her... you _miss_ this... and you _want_ to give _in._ Your mind is torn between two separate ideals... the desire to kill... and the desire to protect.

_"Ness... will you come back to us?"_

You don't answer her. You never answer her immediately. Because you're left to think. And eventually you reach your answer. You know what you _want_ to say. And it's _always_ the same.

But it's never what you _actually_ say.

_**"No."** _

And with one brief scream, you plunge the knife deep within her, piercing through the womb, killing both mother and child in one blow. But... you can't be satisfied with that.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

The last sound to be heard was the sound of Paula's corpse hitting the ground, with a solemn thud.

And that's when you wake up. That's when you always wake up. You'll turn to the surroundings and see if there's any blood there You'll look at your hands, and expect to see your knife in your hands. But of course, there never is.

It's all just a dream, isn't it?

But for you, it's an endless torture. You'll see her and everyone else die again, and again, and _again,_ all while wondering... what if you had said _'yes'?_

What if? What if... you _accepted_ her words? You'll never know. And that's the greatest torture of all.

_Regret._

To wonder, what if things could be _different?_ To wonder, would things have been _better?_ To drive yourself insane, asking why you didn't do this. That's the greatest suffering you've been able to commit yourself to.

How many times do you feel it? You don't _know._ You don't _care._ All you know, is that no matter how many times it is, it will never be enough. So, you keep doing it.

Until... one day.

One day. Things changed. You heard a voice. A voice that sounded so... familiar to you. And yet, not at the same time. You look around and you see a figure. You cannot make out what they are, for your eyes are damaged to the point of being incapable of any sort of visual task.

But your _mind_ recognizes them.

Your mind _knows_ what they are. A familiar person. Someone you have once known.

They say words — but once again, you do not understand the majority of them, because your ears are also damaged to the point of being incapable of picking up any auditory cues.

Instead, your mind connects their voice to a meaning. Still, it falters. It cannot distinguish most things.

Except for _one._

_"Ness..."_

It's your name. Ness. _Ness..._

This person... somehow, they know about you. They recognize you? Even though _'Ness'_ died a long time ago...

There is a surge in your mind, and you become acutely aware that this person is laughing at you. Are they _laughing_ at your pathetic state? Perhaps they are — after all, you are as well.

The laughter goes on for a while, until the surging in your mind weakens, before gradually trailing away, indicating that the person has stopped laughing.

You then feel this figure approaching you, until it stops, guessing that they've come right up to the Devil's Machine, and are now looking inside of it, even tapping it a few times.

The surge restarts, and they laugh at you once more. But the surge is less powerful. Their laughter is not one of pure amusement, but rather a laugh that carries the slightest hint of more sinister intentions.

And then... something else happens. For all the time you've lived for, in this one moment... everything changed.

The person did something —you can't be sure exactly _what..._ but you know exactly what it _did._

The face of the Devil's Machine starts to change, the image of you as a thirteen year old rapidly distorting, until it finally stops.

And then, for the first time in many years, the Devil's Machine opens and releases its sole occupant.

_"Ness..."_

You hit the ground with a thud — the same kind that Paula's corpse always hits the ground with in your nightmares, touching grass for the first time in what must be thousands of years. You try to get up, but of course, you fail — your legs haven't worked for that purpose in thousands of years, and your efforts to stand make you closely resemble a newborn child.

You are aware of this figure watching you, but they seem content to simply let you struggle on the ground, all while laughing at you — and this time, their laughter is one of amusement.

After what must be an hour, the figure stops their laughter, and they decide to try and actually help you. You feel your body being grabbed by the waist, by something powerful... it's large and hard... it's not a human hand, but rather a mechanical one.

The figure starts speaking, and that part of your mind flares more than it ever has before. You're right next to the figure. But their words are meaningless to you.

Yet, you can always make out one... _"Ness..."_

They say this a number of times, and you figure that they're trying to get your attention, trying to get a response. But of course, you _can't_ respond, not with your mouth anyway.

They keep saying more things... until they something that you recognize once more.

But it isn't _your_ name. It's someone _else's_ name. A person you didn't think you'd _ever_ see again.

_"Pokey."_

Pokey... that's what they say. Pokey. You don't know _how,_ you don't know _why..._ but you instantly realize _who_ this is. You know _why_ this person is so familiar.

It's Pokey. One of your failures.

You can't communicate to him in the traditional sense... so you're forced to rely on your mind. But basic speech of any kind is something that you lost any capacity for as well, so you can only communicate a single word back.

_"Pokey...?"_

The surge in your mind tells you that Pokey is laughing once again, but this time, in... _happiness._ He says another stream of words, but once again, you can only make out your name.

_"Ness!"_

And you reply back.

_"Pokey..."_

This continues for a while, until your mind flares with irritation... but it's not _your_ irritation. It's _Pokey's._

He's becoming frustrated that you are incapable of doing anything else. For a second, you're believe that he will simply leave you.

You feel yourself being thrust back into the Devil's Machine and swallowed by the darkness.

But he doesn't leave you. He stays, and soon after, you feel... movement?

The Devil's Machine is being moved to another place... you don't know where, or how, or why... but you feel it. Until it stops.

You're in a different place. You don't know where of course, but you know Pokey is still with you.

He speaks some more. But you don't understand. But he keeps doing it.

For days, weeks, months, _years_ on end, Pokey keeps talking to you.

Until one day, you make out something different than your name and his.

_"Friends..."_

He's asking... if you and him could be friends? You remember all your failures... all those times when Pokey asked for it, and you refused.

But you won't repeat the same mistake over again. You can fix things. You can change things. Fate has given you a fourth chance... and you won't squander it _again._ With all your mental strength, you communicate one simple word back.

_"Friends..."_

And though you're not sure how, Pokey seems to understand what you mean, and starts giggling in joy.

Over time, you become more and more aware of what Pokey says to you. You become more aware of his desires.

He wants to destroy everything. He wants to create oblivion, with only a single place left. To give false hope, before he takes it away, and turns the place into his playground.

And he wants you to help him.

At first, you refuse. After all that you did to save this world, why would you turn back and destroy it? Why would you destroy the world that your loved ones live in?

But then... you realize your folly. How long has it been? You don't know. But it's been hundreds, _thousands_ of years since you sealed yourself away... and so your loved ones... they're all _gone._

Poo. Tracy. Dad. Picky. Jeff. Paula. Mom.

They're all dead by now.

So... what's the point? You fought to save this world for your loved ones. But... now they're gone. And the thing you fought for has been invalidated.

Except for one. Pokey... he's still alive...

Your failure. The one you've always wanted to fix, the one you've had so many nightmares about. And this is your chance. You can keep him _safe._ You can _protect_ him.

And all you have to do... is destroy _anyone_ in front of his path. And his path... is the _world._

So you say yes. And he laughs. He laughs and he points.

You can't see where he's pointing to, but you know where it is with your mind.

He points. You destroy. He laughs.

And you repeat.

Threed. PK Freeze.

Fourside. PK Fire.

Summers. PK Thunder.

Winters. PK Flash.

Dalaam. PK Starstorm.

Onett. PK Rockin.

Over and over. Until he says stop. He says stop. Because you've done enough. You've done what he wanted. And he thanks you for it. He's grateful for what you've done.

You've succeeded. You've fixed your failure. You’ve destroyed... everything. So no one else... no one else will be able to hurt Pokey... not anymore.

And so... you return to the Devil's Machine, another period of time having gone by. Pokey seals it, leaving you with two final words.

_"... best friends..."_

Best friends. Yes. _Best_ friends... forever.

As the pain starts to seep into your veins once more, the faintest hint of a smile creeps onto your face. Because this is what you _need._ This is what you _want._ This is what you _deserve._ To suffer.

This is what it's like to be Ness Mason.

You're trapped in a cycle of your own self inflicted pain.

And you _love_ every _second_ of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there you go, it's the sequel to Cycles that nobody (including myself) asked for, but everyone got anyway! Woo...
> 
> I'm not sure why I wrote this story, because really, Cycles already ended well, and part of me is worried that writing this made the ending retroactively worse (plus that name is pretty cringe). It was nice to do for Halloween though, plus it's my first time trying to write second person. 
> 
> I don't really have much to say, since there isn't really much of a plot here — this was mostly supposed to be just a character study into 'Cycles Ness' as some have called him, as well as some more practice into writing darker stuff, which I'm gonna need for other fics...
> 
> The two things I will mention is firstly, Pokey. It is my belief that in this timeline, he finds Ness, and Ness, wanting to help the last person he ever knew that's still alive in some way, destroys all but the Nowhere Islands as part of his wish. 
> 
> Second off, the dream Ness has about killing Paula? I was actually going to use that in Cycles, as what was going to happens when Ness goes to kill Paula, except it wouldn't actually end with him doing so. I didn't use it for Cycles, since it defeated the point of the story — Ness not seeing any of his loved ones again. Worked well here though. 
> 
> With all that being said, there likely won't be any more continuations to the Cycles Stories — the only thing I might consider doing is a 'what if' scenario story where Cycles Ness accepts Paula's offer to come back to his family, and he gets a more happy ending.
> 
> However, the point of the Cycles Stories is that Ness doesn't get a happy ending, and his loved ones never become aware of any of his suffering. For that reason... don't expect it. Why? 
> 
> Because it hurts.


End file.
